


Fragments

by raineraine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Ian, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, Gay Sex, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian is Unstable, M/M, Manic Episode, Mentions of bipolar, Mickey Milkovich Misses Ian Gallagher, Post Season 5, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Smut, Top Ian Gallagher, Worried Mickey, these boys will be the death of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineraine/pseuds/raineraine
Summary: Loving Ian has Mickey in pieces; being loved by Ian keeps the pieces together.





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Shameless fandom. I wanted a creative break, and ran with the idea of writing a fic about Mickey and Ian based upon Jaymes Young's song "Fragments." I highly recommend listening to the song before you read the fic. 
> 
> This series is so addictive, and I hate how these boys can never be happy.
> 
> I had to give them a few moments. Thank you to h34rt1lly for being my beta, always. <3

_It's a new chance, a new day_

_Avoiding the thought of, you coming over_

_Yeah_

_I've been drafted into your war_

* * *

 

No eggs, no milk, no cheese. But the Gallaghers always had two essentials in the house at all times: beer and cigarettes. Ian opted for the latter, lighting up as he fell back into bed, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the mid-morning light. At least, it was probably mid-morning-- fuck, when had he last taken his meds? Fiona hadn’t been home to bother him about it, so probably… Counting back as he took another drag, he hit five days before he abandoned the count. Too long.

 

Mickey used to remind him to take his meds.

 

That was just another thing the Gallagher touch had fucked up.

 

Another time, another memory of shit that could have been.

 

Shoving the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray on his window sill, Ian rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. Debbie got there first, slamming the door behind her without a glance his direction. Just as well-- he didn’t want to stay here long. He crept to the landing, listening for any signs of movement downstairs, before venturing to the dryer and pulling out clean clothes. They were still damp around the seams, a simple fix with another run through, but he didn’t have the patience.

 

Meds. He should be taking his meds.

 

 _Fuck it,_ Ian thought as he pulled on the jeans and tugged on a shirt. The fit was off, a little too big and more worn than he’d expected. A hole in the bottom where the thread had come free, snagging on everything, reminded him why it felt wrong. It wasn’t his shirt at all-- it was someone else’s. _Mickey._ It shouldn’t be this hard to get rid of someone, but Mickey was a notorious pain in the ass, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise either. He should have taken it off, thrown it out the back door and into the waiting trash can. Instead, Ian ran his fingers over the hole in the seam and pulled on his coat.

 

What month was it?

 

Slamming the door as he left, Ian tucked his hands in his pockets, shivering against the chill of the wind. He didn’t know where to go. Ever since the hospital, he felt foggy and listless. Wading through freezing water became harder without a purpose. Maybe that’s why Mickey went home-- back to the baby, back to Svetlana. She would be happy, having him home to be the father she hounded him to be. He leaned to grab a fencepost, heaving at the thought it. The memories never faded, Mickey’s tears as his father pointed a gun at him, fucking her to save them both from being killed. It would have been bad enough to live with that, if he didn’t have to see her and Yevgeny, picturing Mickey with her over and over again.

 

What if the gun had been pointed at him instead?

 

Wiping his mouth, Ian walked on, no destination in mind. He felt restless, always restless. _Shut up and take your pills,_ Mickey would have said if he saw him. But Mickey wasn’t here, and he didn’t know if he could take the pills. Fiona couldn’t make him, and he damn sure couldn’t make himself. He could get by on his own-- he had before he came back here, to be screwed over and left behind. Ian could do it again. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he hissed under his breath as he turned a corner, staring ahead without really knowing where he was. “All I need is myself.”

 

And Mickey.

 

Pulling open the door of the Alibi, he stumbled, his eyes not adjusting to the dim interior as fast as his feet were moving. Ian didn’t realize how cold he’d gotten on his walk until he sat at the counter, shivering against the temperature change and fishing a pair of gloves that had probably belonged to Lip out of his pocket. _Where was Lip?_ Probably at school, fucking his teacher and living the dream that most of them never had. Kev slid him a beer and a shot of whiskey, nodding once before he went back to the regulars.

 

Mickey hated whiskey.

 

Later, maybe hours, Vee walked in to send Kev home. She eyed Ian, and promptly hustled him outside, shouting at Kev that he couldn’t just let underage kids drink in here anymore even if they were Gallaghers. Ian stumbled at Vee’s quick pace, clutching her arm as he leaned to vomit again, this time on the the sidewalk. Why was he puking so much? Vee sighed, rubbing his back as he dry-heaved, before shooing him in the direction of home. When did it get dark? He saluted her, crossing the street as his vision fogged.

 

What direction was home?

 

Ian couldn’t remember how much Kev had served him. He couldn’t remember which way to go. But he walked anyway, relying on his subconscious to take the lead as he shuffled through the cold, breath steaming as his eyes struggled to focus. He could make it. This wasn’t the first time he’d been drunk, not even the first time he’d been drunk and alone. Pulling open the gate, he laughed to himself-- he’d been going the right way after all. The door was locked, and Ian shivered as he dug through his pockets for a key. Why didn’t he have one? It didn’t matter, someone would come. Settling against the door frame, Ian  groaned, tucking his head into his knees to wait.

 

He could handle it.

* * *

_  
I never really let you go_

_Just thought that you should know_

_Even though you broke my bones_

_Your soul is where I made my home, my home, my home_

* * *

 

The last thing Mickey thought he would wake up to was Svetlana screaming-- not since everyone else had moved out, anyway. He was upright, grabbing his gun from the nightstand and running toward the sound of her startled scream, clothes forgotten. Mickey found her, hand clamped over her mouth, with the door left wide open. Tightening his grip on the gun, he shivered against the drop in temperature as he pulled Svetlana away, anticipating something terrible. _Southside, after all._ But a shock of frost-covered red hair was all it took for him to set the gun in the window sill, dropping onto the porch in nothing but his boxers, checking for a pulse.

 

Ian never made safe choices.

 

This shouldn’t have been a surprise.

 

But here it was, a punch in the gut.

 

Shouting to Svetlana to get Vee on the phone, Mickey hauled Ian into his arms, marveling at the fact that he didn’t appear to have frostbite and was still breathing. It was probably a generous ten degrees outside, hardly safe to be out for long in, let alone (what he assumed had been) overnight. Why was he here, of all places? He heard Svetlana’s frantic words as he dropped Ian on his bed, cocooning him in blankets and cranking the portable heater. “What am I supposed to do with you?” Mickey breathed, crawling into bed next to Ian to give him some more body heat.

 

Ian was the one who told him to leave.

 

Svetlana relayed Vee’s instructions, reminding him of the risk of hypothermia and not to put him in a shower. She was still brushing at tears, baby on her hip now, as she pursed her lips. He knew she wasn’t angry anymore-- she knew he was gay, she accepted Ian. But somehow, she hated when Ian hurt him.

 

Ian would always hurt him.

 

Mickey didn’t remember falling asleep. He woke up with his arms around someone, disorienting him enough to jerk away. Squinting against the the glare of the sun through his curtains, Mickey rubbed his eyes and looked to see who had wound up in his bed. “Ian?” he whispered, eyes widening as he remembered the early-morning screams of Svetlana. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He hissed under his breath, checking again for a pulse. Ian was warmer, color in his cheeks that looked like the flush of fever. This seemed better, somehow, than the chill he had been found with.

 

What now?

 

Ian groaned, turning his head into Mickey’s chest as he shied away from the light. Mickey stilled, holding his breath for Ian’s next movement, unable stop himself from wondering if it was all just another cruel dream. It wouldn’t surprise him-- every day since that night, Mickey had woken up holding a ghost, fisting the blankets when he remembered he was still alone. _I’m sick and fucking tired of holding a ghost._

 

Ian was a ghost of himself.

 

Mickey shook Ian’s shoulder, trying to rouse him. The idiot needed food, fluids, and probably more blood flow to his limbs. “Ian. You have to wake up.” Bleary eyes opened at the sound of his voice, unfocused and searching with all the confusion of a newborn. “When was the last time you took your pills Ian?” Mickey didn’t expect a response, shaking his head as Ian stared at him blankly.

 

It always came back to his fucking meds.

 

Mickey stretched, standing to strip the blankets from Ian’s body, one at a time. Ian didn’t say a word, nearly catatonic as Mickey undressed him, working dry clothes over limp limbs. The only response Mickey could detect was the way Ian’s eyes followed his every move, wide and unblinking as though he couldn’t believe what was happening.

 

This was a vicious cycle.

 

Svetlana must have been listening for the sound of movement, knocking on the door to offer Ian water and a cup of coffee. Mickey nodded his thanks as he took them, lips thinning to indicate he didn’t want to talk about it right now. Ian drank, eyes never leaving Mickey as he did. Clearing his throat, he pointed toward the bathroom, and Mickey waved him off. “Go. Don't you even think about taking off.”

 

Love wasn’t anything like the movies.

 

Ian appeared in the doorway, hands in the pockets of Mickey’s borrowed jeans,  rolling his neck and avoiding eye contact with Mickey. His face looked wet, like he had thrown water on it, and Mickey could smell his own aftershave from the bed. Still, Ian looked like shit.  Standing to pull on his jeans, Mickey shook his head, unsure of what to do with Ian. When he was off of his meds, he was fire and ice. On his meds, he was honey and wine.

 

What if he stayed this time?

 

“Meds.” Mickey shook a bottle that was stashed in his dresser, Ian’s emergency Rxs. “You’re going to take them even if I have to cram them down your fucking throat, Ian.” He dropped them into Ian’s waiting hand, waiting for him to swallow and lift his tongue before continuing. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have died out there!” Mickey was shouting, but he didn’t give a shit. Tears welled in his eyes as he shook Ian by the shoulders, head falling to Ian’s chest as he bit them back.

 

When would he stop loving someone who couldn’t love himself?

* * *

_  
You were looking for another way out_

_Try to fix these broken things_

_All we had were fragments_

* * *

 

Ian slept for three days. He only woke up to eat, take his meds,  or go to the bathroom, which were all at Mickey’s bidding. On the fourth day, he got himself out of bed, making pancakes and eggs for everyone. Svetlana must have been keeping the fridge stocked, because God himself knew Mickey sure as hell couldn’t. Mickey walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter to cross his arms as he looked Ian up and down. “I made breakfast,” Ian offered as he turned off the stove.

 

A familiar rhythm.

 

Mickey sighed, sitting down at the place Ian had set for him with a nod. Svetlana ghosted through the kitchen, taking a paper plate that Ian offered to her and announcing that she needed to go to Kev and Vee’s to watch the twins. Baby in tow, she waved as she shut the door, leaving them truly alone for the first time since Ian had come to Mickey’s. His blood ran cold as he sat down, picking up the pills Mickey had deposited on the table and swallowing them before studying his food in favor of the questions etched in Mickey’s face.

 

Love felt a lot like fear.

 

“Fuck this,” Mickey declared as he stood up, knocking the chair to the floor as he did. “Fuck your nice gestures, and fuck this shit Ian. If you think you can just start making breakfast acting like my damn husband without even speaking to me about what you did, get out!”

 

Setting his fork on his plate, Ian sighed. “What did I do this time?” His voice was hardly above a whisper as he looked up to meet Mickey’s eyes. “I… I don’t remember anything. Not before waking up without you.”

 

Another confession, another break in facade.

 

Just like so many times before.

 

One more reason for him to leave.

 

But Mickey didn’t leave-- he tugged at Ian’s hand, pulling him upright, before he wrapped his arms around him. “You don’t have to wake up without me, Ian.”

* * *

_  
Can't blame it all on you_

_Can't blame it all on me_

* * *

 

Kissing. He didn’t know how they started kissing, but Ian was here, kissing him with fervor. “You can’t just kiss memories away,” he muttered against Ian’s mouth.

“You’re right-- but I can shut you up.”

 

Mickey felt the drag of teeth on his lips, startling him, before his back hit the wall. Ian’s teeth were on his neck and Mickey hissed, fingers digging into Ian’s biceps as he arched off of the wall. The contact coaxed a moan deep in his throat as Ian’s lips skimmed his shoulder, hands shoving down Mickey’s pajama pants. “Ian, fuck,” Mickey stuttered as a hand wrapped around his hardening cock.

 

“We will,” Ian affirmed as he pulled his shirt over his head.

 

The warmth of a mouth on his cock came faster than Mickey could realize that Ian had dropped to the floor. “Ian, I--”

 

“Let me,” Ian begged him. Lips poised open, he met Mickey’s eyes. “This time, let me.”

 

He succumbed, hand dropping to run through Ian’s hair as he watched in awe. Mickey, always giving to Ian-- instead, Ian, with a hand on Mickey’s thigh and another cupping his balls. His eyes fluttered, a compulsory reaction as Ian’s tongue stroked the head of his cock. Not now, though. This wasn’t worth missing for the world, his eyes wide open to watch Ian’s every move.

 

Pulling back, Ian slid two fingers into his mouth, maintaining eye contact with Mickey as he wet them.

 

Shivering in anticipation, Mickey stepped out of his pants and yanked his tank top over his head. Ian’s fingers sought him, slipping between his legs and brushing his taint. Mickey whined, pressing a knuckle into his mouth and leaning into Ian’s hand.  
  
“Was that a please?” Ian chuckled, fingers circling Mickey’s ass. “You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t you?”

 

“Goddamnit.” Mickey reached to grip Ian’s hand, squeezing with insistence. “Don’t fucking tease me!” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Ian’s fingers had thrust into him, no longer a preamble. Mickey bit his lip, pushing Ian’s bangs out of his eyes and tilting his chin up. “I love you.”

 

“Is now really the time?” Ian snorted, curling his fingers inside Mickey.

 

“I’m fucking seri-- ahhhh, fuck, Ian-- s-serious!” Mickey was whimpering now, gripping Ian’s face with both hands. “Stop if you have to, get the fuck up here.” Mickey lurched at the loss of Ian’s fingers, dragging him up hungrily. “Ian. I mean it.”

 

“I love you too, Mick,” Ian breathed out, pressing a palm against the wall to steady himself. “I’ll always love you.”

 

Mickey wanted to let the words seep into his bones. He wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life. He wanted so many things, and still, he was practical. “Nobody gets always or forever, don’t promise that shit.”

 

“Then I’m nobody,” Ian growled as he hitched one of Mickey’s legs up to his waist. “If nobody can promise always, then I’m fucking nobody.” Punctuating his statement, Ian yanked Mickey’s other leg up, pinning him to the wall with his hips. “But ‘I’ll always love you’ sounds a hell of a lot better than ‘nobody loves you,’ Mickey.”

 

“What about nobody fucks me?” Mickey hissed, straining against Ian’s strength to pull his face closer. Ian relented, kissing Mickey roughly as he grasped at his hips. “Ian, please.”

 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Ian cooed as he pressed his hand to Mickey’s mouth. “Spit.”

 

Flushing, Mickey complied, slicking Ian’s hand with saliva. Though he couldn’t see, he felt the bump of Ian’s wrist stroking his cock. Mickey shuddered as Ian pressed into him, his cock achingly hard with each additional inch. Nine inches sinking inside of him, forehead pressed to Ian’s as he panted at the sensation of the slight twitch of Ian’s cock. “More,” Mickey demanded, seeking Ian’s lips once more.

 

Ian complied, rocking his hips to slip in and out of Mickey’s ass and reaching to grasp his throat. “Tell me.”

 

“I want more,” Mickey croaked as his legs shook around Ian’s waist. “Anything, anything you want.”

 

Leaning closer, Ian hovered above Mickey’s lips. He rolled, burying himself deeper in Mickey. As Mickey exhaled, Ian covered his lips, breathing in the stream of exhale and tightening his fingers around Mickey’s throat. At the sight of Mickey’s eyes rolling back, Ian slipped a hand between them to stroke him, cutting off Mickey’s airflow just long enough to feel the veins in his cock swell. Ian released his hold, hands still skimming Mickey’s neck to feel his gasping inhale. “I’m going to make you cum like this,” Ian teased huskily.

 

“Cum with me,” Mickey blurted as he attempted to grind down onto Ian’s cock. “Make me choke and cum with me.”

 

This was the closest he’d get to euphoria, and Mickey knew it-- here, with Ian’s undivided attention, on the edge of ecstasy. He leaned into Ian’s grip this time, forcing his eyes to stay open once more as Ian fucked him harder. “Mickey,” Ian coaxed as he stroked with hand and hip. “I’m gonna cum.”

Ian released his grip as Mickey’s cum shot over his torso, pressing a hand to the wall for the last time as he followed suit. Mickey’s fingers dug into his shoulders, losing himself in the afterglow. Ian pulled out, achingly slow, before easing Mickey’s legs down to the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Just like that, Mickey knew-- this wasn’t over yet.

 

The euphoria and ecstasy were always short-lived, just like Ian’s lows.

 

Still, their fragments, together… made something close to whole.

* * *

_The pieces that you leave behind_

_All I got from this mess, was fragments_


End file.
